


A Fairly Indecent Proposal

by ADevilsHunger (Dream_tempo)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Begging, Body Hair, Body Worship, Dildos, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dominance, Exhibitionism, Face-Sitting, Feminization, Fingerfucking, Foreskin Play, Freeballing, Hand & Finger Kink, Knotting, M/M, Man stink, Medical Kink, Milking, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Prostate Massage, Prostate Milking, Public Sex, Restraints, Sex Toys, Snowballing, Sweat, Voyeurism, Werewolf Biology, Werewolf Sex, Workplace Sex, Xeno, cum swapping
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-14
Updated: 2014-07-14
Packaged: 2018-02-08 20:35:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1955310
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dream_tempo/pseuds/ADevilsHunger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek convinces himself that he keeps going to further the cause. Never mind that he doesn’t know what the fuck the cause even is, but that’s the phrase all the pamphlets and late night commercials use to get them all in here in the first place, so he figures it’s a decent enough excuse. Does it really matter why they need werewolf semen and what for? No, no it doesn’t. He’s just helping people. That’s what all of this is.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Fairly Indecent Proposal

**Author's Note:**

> From the tumblr prompt: "would you do medical kink/milking machine sterek, its something that I find I have a profound need for."
> 
> I hope I didn't super impose too many of my own kinks on here and also, I did utterly no research. I based absolutely everything off of the few arts and fics I've come across over time. :P Sorry if it's wildly terrible.

Derek convinces himself that he keeps going to further the cause. Never mind that he doesn’t know what the fuck the cause even is, but that’s the phrase all the pamphlets and late night commercials use to get them all in here in the first place, so he figures it’s a decent enough excuse. Not that it is—an excuse he means. Does it really matter why they need werewolf semen and what for? No, no it doesn’t. He’s just helping people. That’s what all of this is.

Sure, the first time he’d gone, he and Isaac and Jackson had come as a sort-of joke. They were broke and horny and the corporation promised a good time and better pay. The latter was universally true, especially for Derek, who got a 45% market bonus for being an alpha—but it seemed the former was up to debate as Isaac calmly never talked about the situation again and Jackson took an extra half hour longer than both of them to come out of the small, sterile room in the back of the clinic—looking embarrassed and walking like there was some definite chafe.

Derek? Well, he’d come so hard spots had formed behind his eyes and the equipment technician let out an audible gasp as he had to run and get extra containment vials to pop into the machine before it overflowed. He’s not ashamed to admit that once he had full brain function and at least half of his normal body strength, he rolled to his side as the suction was released, wiped off his wet cock, and smirked at the pretty boy as he licked the extra from his palm.

He’d been fuck-happy and arrogant and so loose and pleased, he hadn’t even needed to think about flirting with the honey-eyed boy behind the machines—trying to clinically mark off Derek’s vials and wind down the machines even as the alpha could scent his arousal. Not wanting to make a thing of it, but not being able to really let it go, Derek’s been coming into the clinic to be thoroughly milked every two weeks since.

Nobody knows about it but him and Stilinski (the boy only blushes and fish mouths every time Derek asks for his first name, but he doesn’t think it’s any coincidence that he just happens to be the technician on call every time he comes to make a donation). Honestly? They’re his favorite times of the month and he makes sure to stop shaving and showering two days before because he knows Stilinski likes it—can see the way the boy’s eyes dilate as Derek strips down, lays back, and spreads his legs to wait for the technician to clean him—only a wetnap between Stilinski’s hand and his musky balls.

Today he’s freeballing in a pair of basketball shorts and wearing the same tanktop he took to the gym yesterday to make up for the fact that he’s got an ingrown hair up on his cheek and he didn’t have the time to clip his toenails if he wanted to make his favorite boy’s shift. He’s feeling a little more grunge than gorge, but when he’s greeted at the intake desk with a familiar smile from the clerk behind the counter and ushered immediately into his preferred room without having to refile paperwork, things feel like they’re going his way.

The room is only just large enough to hold all the equipment and the large, leather table that sits in the middle of it all. The walls are the usual, medical-sterile white and there’s stainless steel on the countertops, but there’s no first aid kits or gauze or syringes. A varied collection of video porn is alphabetized within category on the far wall, surrounding an old TV that was built into its entertainment center. There’s human, werewolf, gay, straight, and a whole lot of orgy flicks, but Derek doesn’t bother with more than a cursory glance.

All the stimulation he needs is watching Stilinski as his eyes get big and his breath gets short and his mouth gets wet while Derek’s hips try and fuck the air, but the leather straps keep him from moving as he gets sucked dry. Smiling and palming himself through his shorts at one particular memory, he fingers the equipment—at the least the end that he understands. All the buttons and knobs and blinking lights mean little to him, but as his eyes follow the tubes from the collection vials on down, his body starts to tingle electric at the sight of the large suction domes.

There’s a whole array of them set out on a table, ranging in both width and height, and a few set aside with a bulb at the bottom for those who like to knot during their session. Derek most definitely does. He walks over to them and grins as he fingers the cool, smooth glass and pinches at the soft, rubbery bases that are made to vacuum seal at the root of his cock, leaving a little less than a half inch between the inner and outer glass wall to allow room for spill-over if the suction can’t collect fast enough. He stays away from the selection with long, thin tubes descending from the double dome—body constricting at even the smallest thought of going as far as to sound his dick to mine for more.

When a throat clears behind him, he’s surprised he didn’t hear someone enter, but only grins as he turns to see Stilinski nervously tapping a chart against his palm. “Mr. Hale—so good to see you again.” His smile is tight, but his eyes are warm and he chews incessantly at his plush, pink lips.

Derek swaggers over and makes sure his shorts are riding low enough on his hips to show some pubes. “I told you, just call me Derek.” He puts his hand over Stilinski’s to hold his nerves and smiles up at him through his lashes. “You’ve seen me blow my load over a half dozen times, I think that means we’re on a first-name basis now.”

Stilinski’s lashes flutter and his heart skips a beat, but his mouth is soft and his voice is soft and his eyes are the softest when he mumbles, “Maybe you’ve got a point there.”

“Of course I do.” Derek trails his fingers over those stupidly toned and furry forearms before stepping away and keeping eye contact as he strips—except for when he turns and bends over to drop his shorts, making sure to wink his hole when he knows Stilinski is looking. “So I was thinking I was going to knot today, like usual, but I wanted to try something new.” He scratches the hair on his stomach as he saunters to the leather bench and then hops up, settling into a comfortable position with both hands behind his head and his legs spread wide.

Stilinski’s blushing and tenting his pants and coughing tightly, but he doesn’t hesitate as he opens his little kit on the table and starts pulling out the cleansing wipes—cleaning his wide palms and long, knobby fingers thoroughly before turning to Derek. The shock of how cold they are against his skin is always enough to make him go flaccid for a few seconds, but that’s only as Stilinski is rubbing the crusted sweat out of his pubes and moving into the crease of his thighs. By the time the technician gets to looking quietly awed as he tugs and massages at Derek’s hairy, nectarine sized balls, he’s starting to chub again and Stilinski has forgotten not to breathe through his mouth.

“I mean, I know I’m already one of your… most generous providers, but I was thinking I could hit a dozen vials today if we massaged my prostate.” Stilinski chokes and Derek yelps as the boy twists his scrotum in surprise, but that also means his cock rubs and sticks to the inside of the technician’s forearm and he can’t help but transition into a moan at the sensation, hips circling to add friction.

“I-uhm… I can arrange that for you,” he ekes out as he runs a shaky hand across his forehead and noticeably tries to regain some semblance of professionalism—pursing his lips and breathing slow and careful as he runs the next towelette over Derek’s shaft and then uses his forefinger to clean out his loose foreskin—pulling it taut over Derek’s cock to check and make sure he got everything while he was rooting around in the loose folds. “The machine comes with a variety of accessories in different sizes and shapes and you can handle the remote to control depth and intensity.” Stilinski points with his chin to the metal arm at the foot of the bench with a naked bolt and screw attachment.

The idea of being fucked like that, by any sort of dildo he’d like, is enough to make Derek’s nipples tighten and his thigh muscles twitch, but that isn’t really the objective for today. He doesn’t say anything as Stilinski takes great care in strapping him down—asking quietly if it’s too tight before buckling the leathers—but makes a gentle noise of dissent and furrows his brows. Stilinski notices the quiet when he’s picking out the right sized dome and fixing the suction tubes to the top—pausing before frowning and looking over at Derek. “Something wrong?” he asks, concern genuine.

“That’s…. not exactly what I was thinking,” Derek demures and bites softly at his bottom lip, playing coy even as his cock slaps against his belly every time it twitches. “The machine, that is.” He stays still as Stilinski brings the dome over and lifts his cock so that it’s standing perpendicular to his body, brushing his pubes as out of the way of the rubber as he can before he presses it down against Derek’s pelvis and twists until the seal starts to suction.

“Well, you know we can’t allow manual stimulation just in case you get too impassioned and break the equipment.” Stilinski smirks and apparently feels bold as he rests his warm hand against Derek’s hip—thumb rubbing circles into the toned muscle. “It’s very expensive. Took years to develop the precise apparatuses to perfect what a hand has been accomplishing for years.”

Derek shutters his eyes and leans into the touch, letting his voice drop and his irises flash as he breathes wetly. “As it happens, I’m very pro-hand.” Stilinski rolls his eyes even as Derek can smell his dick wet, but his palm doesn’t move. “They get the job done pretty well in my opinion. Maybe… you can help me out?” Derek isn’t ashamed to say that he pouts as he arches against Stilinski—feeling like he’s ready to shoot before the machine’s even turned on.

Stilinski pales and his eyes flick immediately to the door as he swallows heavily. “That’s—that’s really against protocol. I could get in a lot of trouble for engaging in the session myself.” He walks stiffly as he heads back behind the machines and flips them to life—thundering heartbeat still audible over the whir as the come to life. Derek grips tightly at the edges of the leather bench and groans as he fucks into his glass dome when it starts to suck.

His whole body is immediately drawn tight as a piano string and his fangs come out as he throws his head back against the rest. The initial surge of pleasure passes quickly as he acclimates to the long pulls and eager suction of the machine and his hard groans turn into swallowed little moans while his hips roll against his casing and his ass slaps the leather underneath with tacky thwacks. “C’mon, touch me. Please?” He rolls his head to look at Stilinski and nuzzles against the bench, biting hard enough to draw blood as his abs quiver and his balls twitch on every upward wrench.

The lanky technician looks absolutely torn as he’s soaking a wet spot into the front of his slacks, but clenches his chart to his chest like a lifeline. “You’ll get off soon enough. You like being milked, the sessions never take long.” Derek screws his eyes shut in pleasure for just a moment as he lets out a sad whine, writhing against his restraints. The machine continues to pull in an unvaried rhythm and hisses occasionally to let out the built-up pressure when it feels tight enough to rip his cock from his pelvis. The over-sensitive edge of pain makes him practically mewl as his toes splay and his muscles flex.

“I want you Stilinski. _God,_ I need you!” Derek stares mournfully at his tight, dusky nipples, his quavering thighs, his ripe balls, his fluttering opening—all so sensitive and yearning and going completely untouched. “Touch me. Fuck! Make me come and I’ll take you to lunch and introduce you to my friends and even show you my parent’s cabin up in Oregon.” He groans and his eyes roll back in his head as the tubes start to make obscene slurping noises—his dome getting humid and sticky as precum spills from his slit and condenses on the glass. “I’ll pop my knot in your pretty ass so many times, you’ll fucking drown in my come and afterwards I’ll eat it from your wrecked, little rosebud and feed it to you with my tongue in your throat.”

Derek’s eyes fly back open as he hears a jarring clatter from across the room. Stilinski’s chart dropped from his hands onto the floor and his hands are clenching as he swallows heavily—pupils having almost completely engulfed his golden irises. “ _Fuck!_ ” The curse is the single most unprofessional thing that Derek has heard fall from the boy’s mouth and it gets him so hot that he’s spreading his legs like he’s in heat. There’s a clear moment of indecision in the line of the technician’s body—muscles strained and heart palpitating—but when Derek just goes for it and brokenly moans his name, clarity rushes over him.

A confidence that Derek has never seen settles into the boy’s bones and his limbs go liquid as he stalks over, licking his lips as his voice comes out raw and he croaks, “You’re such a dirty little slut, aren’t you?” Derek nearly sobs in relief as he nods his head furiously and fucks his hips up off the bench, begging for touch. “So needy, so desperate.” Stilinski licks his lips and his hands shake in anticipation as they hover over Derek’s body. “You may be an alpha, but you’re a cum-hungry bitch in heat too—a sweaty, dirty, stinky animal.”

Derek whines and nods his head again, ass slapping against the leather again and again as he pleas for touch—the small of his back sticking to the material and beating out hot little chuffs of air every time it smacks down. Sweat is collecting in the creases of his thighs, his navel, his armpits, his clavicles, his temples, and Derek absolutely reeks—aided by the smell of his generous precum being filtered out by the hissing releases of pressure from the milking machine. He’s breathing through his mouth and getting drunk off of it—head reeling as his body strains with the sheer amount of pleasure coursing through him.

Stilinski chuckles darkly as he bends over to whisper in Derek’s ear—his breath cool and teasing against the shell. “Such a pretty little whore—selling his body out to the corporations just to come see me. And he knows it too—vain and arrogant and _cocksure._ ” Stilinski clicks his tongue before smirking and finally reaching out to alleviate some of Derek’s tension—the tips of his fingers pinching and twisting at the peaks of his nipples. Derek feels tears prick at the corners of his eyes and the pressure increase on his cock as his knot starts to swell and fill the empty bulb at the bottom of his suction dome. “Wanted to show off your dark, hairy, virile body for me, didn’tcha baby?”

Stilinski rubs flat palms over Derek’s ribs and scratches his nails where they taper into the vee of his groin. Derek whimpers and just keeps nodding, arching into the technician’s hands as his ass clenches and his thighs start to spasm. He had, god he had! He loved stripping for Stilinski, loved getting off for him, loved getting up in his space afterwards when he was sweaty and cummy and stank like sex. He loved to be filthy for him and try to make him break that cool composure. He fucking preened knowing he succeeded.

Stilinski chuckles again as he moves down to squeeze at the meat of Derek’s ass, thighs, scrotum. “Lookit you—like overripe fruit just ready to burst.” He fondles and massages—squeezing and rolling and _pulling_ liking he’s helping to milk. “No wonder you have to come in so often. You’re a fucking breeder. Must make gallons of your musky spunk and get so backed up.” He smirks as his eyes rove Derek’s body—practically dragging like a physical touch. “Too bad you’re just a pretty bitch inside who wants to get plowed.” Derek can feel hair sprouting along his jaw as his forehead distends and he only just keeps from howling—knot starting to pulse in its confinement.

“That’s what you want isn’t it? What you asked for?” Stilinski parts the bottom of Derek’s ass cheeks with one hand as his other brushes the hair away from his puckered, dusky hole. It clenches and gapes when Derek flexes it and he writhes as he fights to try and push down on Stilinski’s fingers. “Did you touch yourself and imagine it was me? Bet you crooked your knuckles and scissored your fingers and prodded your prostate while whispering my name.” Derek’s chest rumbles in affirmation as he feels like he’s going to explode. His balls are jumping and he thinks he can see his cock turning purple through the glass as the machine chugs away at him, eagerly awaiting his deposit.

“I’ll do it. I’ll finger-fuck and even eat out your pungent little man-pussy…” Derek whines and cries and throws his whole body against his restrains—so close to that razor’s edge, heart burning at the prospect of finally getting what he’s been craving these longs months. Stilinski is staring down at him with such intensity—whole body eerily still as he licks at his lips and takes another assessment of their situation. “But I’m not your technician, got it? I’m not your fuck toy, your milking machine, your kinky fantasy. Lunch and friends and the cabin in Oregon and my ass so full of your jizz I’ll be worried about getting pregnant. Okay?”

His heart is racing and his fingers are clammy against Derek’s over-heated flesh and he can smell the sour notes of worry cutting through all their spiced lust. It’s enough to make him lie prone against his bench and breathe heavily—teeth retracting enough to let him talk. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.” They both pause with thick tension between them and the machine is squelching loudly in the background and Stilinski has his fingers on Derek’s asshole and Derek’s cock in engorged in a glass dome between them, but somehow it’s the most serious he’s ever been.

Stilinski nods once, sure, and smirks. “It’s Stiles by the way,” he tosses out, before plunging dry fingers past Derek’s lax, unsuspecting opening and without warning Derek’s orgasm is being torn from his body, ass clenching so tight he wonders if he might pinch off Stiles’ fingers, hips arching off the bench in a ludicrous contortion, and throat going raw as he howls loud enough to let every werewolf in the Tristate area know that he nutted off and it was good.

Stiles is mewling as the machine chokes and splutters and Derek’s dome wags wildly while his cock jerks and his knot throbs and he spews so much cum the overflow is starting to look ill-prepared. Stiles drops to his knees quickly and tucks his nose and chin underneath Derek’s weighty balls as they jitter in time with each spray he releases and his hot tongue is laves around his trapped finger as Derek stays strung tight as a drum— but he seems just as blissed out as he hums and ignores the machine as it bleeps and flashes lights, signaling for more vials.

Stiles doesn’t get to it in time, but when he has to use a mop to clean up the overflow, Derek knows he _way_ over shot the dozen mark. It doesn’t matter much, as the second he’s free from his restraints he tackles Stiles to the ground and sucks greedily on the wet spot in the front of his slacks until he’s slurping cum from between the fibers. Later, when they’re in a bed and he hasn’t been wiped down with unscented wet naps and Stiles is just as naked, he plans to sit on the younger boy’s face and see how long it takes before he’s gasping for air and tapping out to keep from suffocating—this time the one taking what he wants and being in control. The idea of it makes him salivate and he can’t wait to switch those positions again and again.

It’ll be a fun weekend, Derek thinks. Plus Laura will never want to borrow the cabin again when she won’t be able wash the scent of his jizz out of the sheets.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts are always open here at [my tumblr](http://www.drivenbyadevilshunger.tumblr.com) and I love to just hear from all of you!


End file.
